


The Boy Who Doesn’t Exist.

by falconeggs



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falconeggs/pseuds/falconeggs
Summary: To ensure that Patrick never falls in love, he thinks up an impossible boy and casts a spell to tie their destinies together. He doesn’t exactly know that, though, because he’s just a kid when he does it.





	The Boy Who Doesn’t Exist.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I started writing this, every time I look at Patrick on my screen, I forget he’s not actually a witch. If this happens to you, I refuse to apologize. I will, however, apologize for any and all mistakes. If you wanna hang, I’m @focksii on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it! And I hope you get ready for more AUs no one asked for because I’m about halfway through two more lol.

After a long and grueling day at her mother’s house, having to hear about all the ways she’s raising her children wrong, Mary Brewer is worn out. Mary’s mother is a judgmental woman who loves to poke at her weak spots, and the day at Grandma’s house had drained her completely.

Mary has had to listen to her mother berate her all day about every detail. She doesn’t think Mary pushes her children enough, with their magic, their intelligence, or their emotional strength. She doesn’t like that her grandchildren are being raised in a non-magical community. She thinks their posture isn’t good enough. She doesn’t like that they’re watching television, even though she’s the one who turned it on. She doesn’t like the kids haircuts. She doesn’t like the dress Mary is wearing, telling her, quite bluntly, that it makes her look “even fatter”. She doesn’t like the pie Mary brought, even though it’s her own recipe, followed to perfection. She doesn’t like the current political climate, and, for some reason, blames Mary for that. To put it simply, she doesn’t like anything. Mary puts up with it because, she knows, as sharp as her mother’s tongue is, her affinity for hexes and curses is sharper. She thinks that this visit will give them a good two or three months without having to visit again.

Just before collapsing into bed after her long day, Mary checks in on her children one last time. Her youngest two are already fast asleep, and have been for a little while, all tucked into their beds with their safety wards on their bedposts. Her oldest, much to her surprise, is still awake when she pokes her head into his bedroom.

Based on the way his bed looks, Patrick must have been in bed, but flung himself out and gotten straight to work. Patrick has a candle lit, and all of his herbs jars and tinctures strewn across his little worktable. He’s taken very little interest in his family’s magical gifts so far, so to see him working on his own is a surprise. While Mary isn’t pleased that her eight year old has a candle lit on his own, she’s excited to see him taking some of his first steps into magic. She watches him scribble words into his spell book, then sprinkle a few dried leaves into a little cauldron from his doorway.

“What are you doing?” She asks, softly, stepping inside.

“Making a spell,” he explains, not looking away from his work. He seems to be very diligent. Patrick always comes up with new ways to amuse Mary without even realizing it.

“Can I see?” She asks with a smile. Patrick nods, and slides his journal across the table in her direction.

Mary crosses the room and sits in the spare chair at his table in front of his open book. She looks at his combination of ingredients on the table first, and her heart starts to beat a little harder. Based solely on what’s scattered on his workspace, Mary can tell that the powerful spell he’s concocting has to do with either love or destiny. Patrick seems to have sprinkled in a little bit of everything, so maybe the spell is about both. She turns her eyes down to his sloppy handwriting in his book.

“ ‘He’s black and white, but has more colors than I can see’, ” she reads aloud, but softly. “ ‘He knows about everything, and about nothing. He owns all the stars in the sky. He can say a hundred things without speaking. He can tell the truth and lie at the same time. He wears fancy shoes, and dresses, and rings on all his fingers, except one. He has never heard of magic, but is magical. He doesn’t know anything about sports. He can’t ride a bike.’ Patrick, what is this spell?” The ingredients on the table and his cryptic words give her a good idea, but she needs to know if he knows what he’s doing.

“Grandma says it’s wrong for boys to love boys,” he says, very softly and thoughtfully. “I don’t want her to think I’m bad.”

Mary’s heart gives an aching throb. She didn’t realize he’d been paying attention to that particular part of her mother’s rant. She had a guess that Patrick might like boys, based on the way he talks about one boy in his class, not that Mary would bring that up to her mother. She puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You could never be bad,” she tells her son, confidently. He’s the sweetest boy she’s ever known, his heart is bigger than the world deserves. “Grandma is old-fashioned. She’s from a whole different world than you, she doesn’t understand.” She expects him to ask if Grandma is an alien, but he doesn’t. Instead, Patrick just shrugs, still not looking up from his work. “What is the spell for?”

“That’s the only boy I could ever love,” he explains, reaching over without looking to tap at the words he’s written.

Mary’s brow furrows. “And, you want to find this boy someday?” She asks. “The boy who owns all the stars?”

Patrick shakes his head and finally gives his mom a patient smile. “He doesn’t exist,” he explains. “There’s no way a boy like that could be real. I can’t fall in love with a boy who isn’t real.”

It makes Mary sad, for some reason. She never wants her son to feel like he’s bad for loving anything. She reaches out and brushes a hand over his hair. “You can love anyone you want to, sweetie,” she promises him with a smile. “Grandma can deal with it.”

Patrick cracks a small smile, but goes back to his spell. “We have to respect our family line,” he tells her, sprinkling dried rose petals into his concoction. He’s using her own words against her. He’s got her, there. She nods, knowingly, trying to hide her amusement from him. “And I wanna make Grandma happy, because she’s never happy, so I won’t fall in love with any boys. Easy.” He pops the cork off of a little vial and dumps the contents clumsily into his mixing pot. His potion starts to smoke, light pink and floral smelling, and he holds the pot by it’s swinging handle over his candle so it can start to bubble away.

She’s torn. Watching Patrick make up new spells makes Mary endlessly proud, even if it’s not for the best of reasons. His magical instincts are strong, she knows, because he seems to have done everything right. His first spell on his own, and he’s prefect. How could she not be proud? But, Mary knows magic, she knows the tricks it plays. Patrick has sealed his fate in a way he’s too young to understand. Somewhere out there is a boy that Patrick doesn’t know exists, one that fits right into Patrick’s impossible description, and, one day, their paths will cross. She hopes her boy will be ready on that day.

When everything is done, and the smoke clears from Patrick’s room, she helps him tidy up, then tucks him back into bed. It’s late, way past his bedtime, but at least it’s not a school night. Patrick’s eyes are droopy, and he looks like Mary’s little baby again. “You did a very good job with your spell, sweetie,” she compliments him softly. He smiles at the praise and leans into her hand that brushes over his hair. “You’ll be the best witch the world has ever seen.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but they don’t open back up. “No,” he mumbles, already half asleep. “But I think I’ll be pretty good.”

Mary snickers at his statement, finding his endless, humbling wisdom very amusing. “Goodnight, baby,” She whispers to him. She leans down and kisses his forehead, and his breathing is already even against her chin.

She watches over him, just for a minute or two. Mary has always seen Patrick as a gift, her greatest gift. There’s so much she wants to protect him from, because Patrick doesn’t deserve to face hate or fear. His kindness is rare, and the last thing she wants is for it to be snuffed out.

Before she exits his room, Mary reads over the spell in his book once more before closing it up and putting it on his shelf. She hopes, as she turns off Patrick’s bedroom light, that the boy he’s cast a spell for can make Patrick as happy as he deserves.

The smell of roses lingers in Patrick’s room for two days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There isn’t much in Patrick’s car as he drives away from his life. He’s got his clothes, his guitar, his trunk of magic supplies that was already hidden away in the trunk of his car, and his collection of books. Most importantly, he’s got every intention of starting fresh. He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that he needs to go. He’s not even using the GPS on his phone as he drives out of the city. Patrick is just letting the road and the universe lead him.

Everything had felt stifling. Patrick’s job was boring, and his efforts were under appreciated. His mother nagged him relentlessly about everything in his life, which was endlessly obnoxious, even if she’d meant well. His grandmother, barely hanging on by a thread these days, still undermined his magical abilities at every possible turn. His siblings had a habit of crashing on his couch for weeks at a time, then disappearing. Worst of all, Rachel made him feel like he couldn’t breathe, which isn’t as romantic as one night think.

He loved her, of course he did. He wouldn’t have asked her to marry him if he didn’t love her. They were best friends, they told each other almost everything. But the longer he faced his life with her, the more it felt like the fist around his lungs was gripping tighter and tighter. He loved Rachel as much as he loved any of his best friends, but he came to the realization that wasn’t enough. All of his mother’s never-ending comments about her not being the right person for Patrick definitely added to the situation.

He’d ended things a few weeks ago, but she wasn’t giving up without a fight. He expected that. Rachel started inserting herself back into his life, popping up in places she shouldn’t have, just to get his attention. That wasn’t abnormal, as it had happened every other time they’d broken up, but this particular round felt relentless. He couldn’t allow himself to get sucked back in, so Patrick knew that it was time to go. He had to go somewhere she wouldn’t just pop up. The barest of essentials were packed, and his foot is on the pedal, and everything he once knew is now behind him.

The music starts out softly in his car. As the lanes of the highway dwindle, with every mile in the rear view mirror stacking up nicely, Patrick’s breathing gets easier. His headlights illuminate exit signs he’s never taken before, and his turn signal practically turns itself on for them. Certain turns just call out to him, and he trusts.

He imagines, as he drives further and further into the country, some adorable town with endless potential, the kind where everyone knows everyone’s names. When he was a kid, he’d always imagined settling in nicely to a town like that. He asks silently with a song to take him there, to where he belongs. Some of the signs along the highway practically glow, calling Patrick to follow their directions, which is a leap of faith he’s more than willing to take. He’ll find what he’s always been looking for.

Patrick drives all day, stopping for gas and to stretch his legs twice. The longer he drives, the louder his music gets, and the braver he sings. It’s a great drive, Patrick enjoys all of the scenery he passes as much as he can. The farmlands and rolling hills are picturesque. His playlist is just as good as the view, and he gets lost in his own soundtrack. He lets himself get caught up in the feeling of flying free. He can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe like this.

As the sun starts to set, Patrick thinks he should start trying to find a place to stop for the night. The last town he passed was about thirty minutes ago, so he figures he’ll stumble upon something soon. Then again, he has no idea where he is. As he approaches a turn, something in him tells him to take it. He passes a few houses every mile or so, but nothing town-like. When the sun is completely set and the sky starts to get dark, he wonders if he’s made a mistake. He breathes through it, and trusts wherever the road takes him. Besides, the stars are beautiful company, brighter than Patrick has ever seen them, like they’re calling out to him. It’s only another twenty minutes before his headlights brighten up a motel sign.

Patrick pulls into the Schitt’s Creek Motel and chuckles to himself. What kind of a place did he stumble into? The parking lot seems about half empty, so he thinks he has a good chance of getting a room.

The door to the office squeaks open, and the older gentleman behind the desk looks up at Patrick, then smiles. The first thing Patrick notices about him is his eyebrows, and he can’t help but think they look very familiar somehow. Rather than gape at this man’s eyebrows, Patrick’s eyes glance around the room. The coffee in the corner smells horribly strong, but it’s otherwise a decent motel office. It seems very homey, in a vintage kind of way.

“How can I help you?” The gentleman with the eyebrows asks as Patrick approaches the counter.

“I’m hoping to get a room for the night,” Patrick supplies, easily.

“You’re in the right place!” The gentleman jokes, but isn’t funny. Patrick gives him a pity laugh, anyway. Patrick gives the personal information needed for check in, staying very patient with the man, who is still trying to get the hang of the computer system. He makes some excuses, apologizing for his difficulties, but Patrick isn’t in too big of a rush. Honestly, he’s more upset that he can’t figure out why this man seems so familiar to him, and even that isn’t bothering him.

Finally, the man behind the desk hands him a room key. “Here you go,” he says, with a slight smile. “There’s your key. You’ll be in room ten. If you go out these doors and take a left, it’s all the way at the end. The office is open until nine, but if you need anything, my wife and I are in room six.”

Patrick smiles and holds up his key. “Thank you,” he says. “I think I’ll be good.”

The gentleman nods. “Good, good, excellent,” he says, clapping his hands. “Well, have a good night, Mr. Brewer, I hope you enjoy your stay here in Schitt’s Creek.” He sounds so genuine, it sort of touches Patrick.

“Thanks, I think I will,” he says, then turns to leave the office.

Patrick quickly grabs his duffel bag of clothes from the trunk of his car, then makes his way down the line of doors. As he passes, he can hear a man and a woman bickering softly in room seven, then a television in the next. No one seems to be in room nine, which Patrick takes as a blessing. At least he’ll have a quiet night’s sleep.

He unlocks room number ten and flicks on the light. The room is decent enough. It looks clean, and it has a bed and a shower, so Patrick can’t complain. He puts his bag down beside the bed, then plops down into it, sagging into the old mattress. He feels exhausted, but it’s not a bad feeling. Something inside him feels settled, though the long hours on the road have left him feeling like he’s still moving, even as he stares up at the ceiling, motionless.

After a few minutes of rest, Patrick sits up and digs out his phone to look up the town he’s stumbled upon. Schitt’s Creek barely has a Wikipedia page, and almost no news online. There’s a related article on a celebrity gossip site a few links down titled “What Ever Happened To The Rose Family?”, but Patrick doesn’t click on it.

A tiny town in the middle of nowhere feels like the perfect place to start fresh. In the morning, he’ll search for a room to rent and a job, maybe explore the town a little. For now, Patrick just wants to take a shower and fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first hint David gets, in regards to Patrick being a little different than most, is found in the cash register. It’s their third day after Rose Apothecary’s soft-grand opening, and things have been going extremely well. David finds himself behind the counter, checking out customers, and he discovers a little crystal in the spare coin section of the register. After ringing out four separate customers, and the store clears out, David finally brings it up.

“Where did this come from?” He asks, holding up the jagged, light yellow and white crystal. It shines beautifully under their lights, and the facets inside it are stunning. It’s a very nice crystal, David can assume, not that he knows anything at all about crystals.

Patrick looks up and gives a little half-smile. “Oh, I put it in there,” he says, then goes back to adjusting the lines of product.

“What is it?” David asks, bringing the crystal closer to examine it. “I’ve never seen quartz this color.”

“It’s not a quartz,” Patrick explains, stepping over to the counter. “It’s a citrine.”

David’s brows raise in surprise. “Oh,” he says.

Patrick smiles a little wider. “Yeah, it attracts positive energy,” he explains further, leaning against the counter opposite David. “Specifically, the money kind of energy, when it’s in the register.”

David tucks his lips between his teeth and nods slowly. “I didn’t expect you to be so into crystals,” he says with a shrug. “Very new age-y for a guy who lives in button-down shirts.”

“Is it ‘new age’ if it’s something your grandma taught you?” Patrick returns easily. David raises his brows further, somehow, but doesn’t say anything. “You can take it out if you don’t like it.”

David quickly shakes his head. “No, no,” he says, dropping the crystal carefully into the register. “I was just asking. Put as many good energy crystals around the store as you like. We can use as much help as we can get.”

Patrick smiles, then goes back to work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two days later, David notices a bundle of herbs hanging up by the front door, but doesn’t mention it. He also gingerly walks over the line of rock salt in front of the back door, very careful not to disturb it, and doesn’t mention that either. He’s seen stranger things before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first night David accidentally stays over at Patrick’s, it’s very early on in their relationship. They’re still in agreement to take things slow, the waters of their new romance still rippling from the recent stone cast. They don’t want to rush things. They’re both still reeling from their new ability to reach over and just touch hands, to share private, tender kisses. They couldn’t possibly jump into anything sexual now. It all feels very Victorian, and David would be lying if he said it isn’t a little thrilling, at least for now.

A surprising rush of customers at the store had pushed back some necessary paperwork, effectively ruining their evening plans. Rather than rescheduling some much needed alone time, they agreed to take the paperwork home to Ray’s house, watch a movie, order in, and at least try and have a little fun.

They had more than a little fun, with the hours passing by faster than they’d expected. After finishing their paperwork, they talked through a movie, sharing bites of takeout, silly stories, and soft kisses. Before they knew it, the clock told them it was a little past two in the morning. David started stressing about how he would get back to the motel, his hands waving in anxious fists, when Patrick took his them in his own hands and instantly calmed him. David hadn’t expected to be assuaged so promptly, but let the feeling wash over him without questioning it.

“Just stay the night,” Patrick had said, his voice warm and gentle, and how could David say no? Patrick wanted him to stay the night, no sex involved. No one else had ever invited him to just sleep before.

So, he finds himself following Patrick’s instructions to go upstairs and find some pajamas in the top drawer of his dresser. David has doubts about the dresser in the corner of Patrick’s bedroom, if it could even be called a dresser. Only slightly larger than a night stand, it was far too small to hold anyone’s wardrobe, even Patrick’s, but David doesn’t see any other dresser in the room.

When he opens the top drawer, he expects to see some horrendous flannel and tee shirts, but, instead, finds a drawer full of candlesticks. They’re all different colors, with a few of the wicks already previously burned. It’s not that David finds it strange that Patrick has candles, David has acquired quite a collection of candles, himself. It’s that Patrick has forty candlesticks in all different colors, and they’re in their own drawer in his bedroom.

David only has a few seconds to take in the strange sight before Patrick is entering the bedroom. “Oh,” he says, walking over and quickly shutting the drawer. “Not this one.” He smiles and takes David’s hand, pulling him towards the closet. “The dresser in here. Sorry, I should have been more specific.”

Patrick is acting like there’s nothing abnormal afoot, but David is hung up on the drawer. “Right,” He says, glancing over his shoulder at the little cabinet. “Because I couldn’t exactly wear a bunch of candles to bed.” Patrick chuckles at him as he opens his closet doors to reveal a very respectably-sized dresser. Somehow, David isn’t completely distracted by this yet. “Why do- Why do you have a drawer full of candlesticks? I’ve never seen anyone just have a drawer, full of candlesticks, in their bedroom before.”

Usually, Patrick is quick with his responses, but he hesitates. Then again, it is two in the morning, and they’ve had a long day. “I’m a witch,” he says, bluntly.

David snorts, and rolls his eyes, then goes for the dresser. The wood is beautifully stained, and lightly carved into a simple, elegant design. He lets himself finally be distracted by the beautiful piece, running his hands over the wood gently. “I like this dresser,” he compliments, stealing a glance over his shoulder to Patrick. He likes just being able to look over at him so closely. “This is a very solid piece of furniture.” His fingers tap on the wood gently for emphasis.

As David opens the top drawer and fishes out the most suitable pajamas he can find, Patrick just watches him. He’s given up the oldest and most serious family secret for the first time, something he’s never supposed to do, and David just took it. It didn’t shatter David’s entire world. Of course, he’d taken it as a joke, but it still settles well into Patrick’s bones. It felt so natural, to have the words tumble from his lips to David’s ears.

David turns to face Patrick, about to say something, but Patrick swoops in for a gentle kiss before he can. David gasps softly in surprise before falling into Patrick’s lips, and Patrick hopes he never stops surprising David with kisses. Eventually, they pull back from their tender kiss, and Patrick is overwhelmed by the shy smile on David’s face.

“Um,” David starts, and Patrick can see him gathering his wits. “I’m going to go change. Into these wonderful pajamas that you’ve so graciously provided me with. Really. Lovely stuff.”

Patrick smiles at him, a rush of affection for David’s bumbling soaring through him. “Okay,” Patrick says, nodding his head. He takes a step back at the same time as David, then watches as he exits the room.

While he waits for David to return, Patrick changes into his second favorite pair of pajama pants and replays everything about David in his head. He’s heard many, many people go on and on about love, and what it feels like. He, himself, had once thought he’d known what love is, and then David sauntered into his life and shattered all of his preconceived notions. The spark he felt the first time he and David shook hands made him feel things no one had ever inspired before. The love he once collected for, say, his ex-fiancée over many years of a relationship is nothing compared to how he already feels for David, even after just a few short weeks. It’s too soon, far too soon, to say those three magic words; Patrick can practically see the cartoon cloud of smoke in the shape of David if he were to actually tell him how he feels. The right time will present itself, Patrick can trust that.

He shuts off the overhead light, leaving on the lamp on his bedside table, and climbs into bed. He picks up the book beside his lamp and reads a page or two before David returns. The book is quickly set aside. The sight of David in Patrick’s most comfortable pants and threadbare shirt makes Patrick’s heart lurch in his chest. They smile silently at each other as David closes the door behind him and crosses the room to climb into bed with Patrick. This is uncharted territory for the both of them, but it feels so normal. Watching as David climbs in bed beside Patrick is a random puzzle piece fitting into the big picture, revealing a new secret.

The light from the lamp is swiftly shut off, and their arms wrap around each other in the warmest embrace either of them have ever felt. They drift off together for the first time with great ease, murmuring softly to each other quiet secrets that will never leave their bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are a couple more crystals around the store, but they compliment the aesthetic so much, David doesn’t even adjust their positions. On dusting days, he takes very special care of them, so that they shine as beautifully as they should. Everyone assumes they’re David’s, and he always gets questions about them. It feels like a secret between he and Patrick, and David loves that feeling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick has been caught up talking to Ray for about fifteen minutes too long. Date night had lead he and David back to Patrick’s. They’d thought they’d arrived after Ray would have already started his stories, but they were sorely wrong. They’d been caught up in long conversations before, and, as much as he liked Ray, Patrick wasn’t keen on spending his alone time with David with Ray. He’d given David the secret look to escape the conversation early, but got ensnared into something he couldn’t duck out of with ease. When the conversation with his landlord finally comes to a lull, Patrick makes his daring escape, taking the stairs two at a time to meet David in his bedroom.

He closes his bedroom door behind him quickly, then turns to look at David. He looks so gorgeous, of course he does, and it makes Patrick’s heart throb. David perched on the side of Patrick’s bed with a book in his lap. Patrick realizes, quite quickly, that it’s the magic book he left on his side table. The world stops in his tracks as he takes in the sight. David’s head snaps up when he hears Patrick enter. They stare at each other for a long moment, neither knowing what to do.

“So,” David begins, uncrossing his legs, and Patrick almost can’t hear him over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. “That thing you said. A while back. That thing about you being a witch? I’m starting to think that, maybe, that wasn’t just a joke. That-. That you were very serious about-. That statement.”

Patrick doesn’t know what to do, he’s never been trained for this situation. He always imagined telling David, maybe a year down the line, not that David would read one of his books and figure it out. He looks down at the book in David’s hands and thinks, very briefly about what page he was on, and he hopes David marked it in some way.

“Please, don’t be mad at me,” David continues in a whirlwind.

“Mad at you?” Patrick asks in surprise.

“It’s just, I always see you reading these beautiful, ornate, ancient-looking books, and I’ve always been curious, and this one was just open on your nightstand, and I could it was hand-written, which one rarely sees in a volume of this size,” David explains as quickly as he can force the words out. “But this obviously isn’t just some diary from your great-great grandfather you picked up to learn more about your family history, or something. Is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Patrick agrees, still hovering by the closed door.

David tilts his head, and looks away, then turns his eyes down to the page. “Well, this passage about how star charts affect the outcomes of certain potions and curses is so fascinating,” he says, quietly, but Patrick can hear the sarcasm weaving into his voice.

Patrick can’t stop himself from smirking. He finally moves his feet to take him to the bed. “It’s really dry content,” Patrick admits. “And the writer uses flowery language I’m not really accustomed to, so it’s hard for me to get through.” He sits beside David, but not as close as he normally would. He’s still not sure what this all means for them.

David looks up and meets Patrick’s eyes. “It’s like something my mother would write,” he says. “I think it might make more sense if you read it in her voice.”

“Huh,” Patrick murmurs.

David dips his head and starts to read aloud in a perfect imitation of his mother’s preposterous accent. “ ‘Any natural occurrence can and should bias a witch’s magic, especially if that witch refuses to take note of said natural occurrence. For instance, while casting a delightfully bellicose hex towards one’s enemies would do well during Mars’ descent into Scorpio, a luck potion brewed under the very same sky could result in mild, or even antithetical effects, especially if a witch’s magicry is tied to natural events.’ “

Patrick had read the extended version of that particular passage more than once, and the words never seemed to come together before. Hearing David say it made the information slot into place a little easier. Moira’s voice was a language of it’s own, one Patrick had to take time to get accustomed to. Now, it’s a gift, because it’s the key to unlocking all of the magical secrets that he hasn’t been able to grasp before.

“I don’t even know what a ‘wonderfully bellicose hex’ is,” David says, peeking back up at Patrick and double taking when he sees Patrick smiling at him.

“It’s a hex that makes the hexed person very aggressive towards their friends and loved ones,” Patrick explains, softly.

“Oh, I see,” David whispers, nodding. “Sounds like a kind of hex to do while Mars is in Scorpio. Or maybe in Gemini.”

Patrick lifts his brows. “In Gemini,” He parrots back, teasing a little bit. “I wouldn’t have thought of hexing anyone while Mars is in Gemini, but you know what? I think it would probably do a pretty good job.”

“You’re making fun of me,” David accuses, but he’s smiling at Patrick, so he’s not so upset about that. Patrick nods in confirmation, which only makes David smile wider at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this? I mean, you did, but saying it like that in the middle of the night isn’t exactly-. You know.”

“I know,” Patrick soothes him, reaching out to clasp their hands together on top of the book. “I didn’t know how to tell you. And, technically, I’m not supposed to tell you. If I’ve been told anything about my magic, it’s that I am never supposed to tell anyone. Concealment above all else, that’s the first law of magic.”

“Wow,” David says, surprised. “Top secret magic stuff, huh? I feel very privileged.”

Patrick chuckles. “You should,” he teases, haughtily. “I’ve never told anyone I’m a witch before.”

David tucks his lips between his lips and nods quickly, and Patrick adores that expression on his face. “Exactly how witch-y are we talking here?” He asks, still doing a wonderful job of processing all of this. “Can you, like, brew love potions and manifest actual, physical money? Or is it more of a spiritual path? Like, I don’t know, palm readings. Or, like, burning sage for energy clearings.”

“Well, I do burn sage,” Patrick admits, grinning as he ducks his head. “But my magic is a little more-. Natural, I guess, han manifesting physical money.” He looks over David’s face for a long, extended moment, before he stands. “I’ll show you.”

David watches Patrick cross the room to the strange, little cabinet in the corner. He opens the top drawer and pulls out a light green candle. He carefully places it into the candlestick, then lights it quickly with the little box of wooden matches off to the side. Patrick turns his attention to the potted plant on the windowsill, his hands cupping the simple pottery. David listens as Patrick chants softly in a language he doesn’t recognize, but instantly falls in love with. The sounds, while seeming to be complete gibberish, have a beautiful, lyrical quality that David could listen to all day. When the plant starts to move, David tears his eyes from Patrick’s form to watch what he’s doing.

Somehow, a little rosebud starts to poke out of the side of Patrick’s miniature jade tree. Patrick chants softly to it with his eyes closed, coaxing it to grow into full bloom in under a minute, and David can’t believe his eyes. He’s gaping at Patrick as the witch pulls his hands away from the pot. He plucks the rose, then hands it to his own Rose with a shy smile, and, fuck, that is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to David. He stares at the rose, so fondly, before finally looking up and meeting Patrick’s eyes.

“This is amazing,” he breathes, completely caught off guard by his own wonder. He’s hardly a tough nut to crack, but not a lot truly impresses the illustrious David Rose. Then again, no one had ever magic’d him a flower before. He smells the rose carefully, and it’s the most wonderful smell, like David has never really known the true scent before. It’s fresh, and clean, and so real, and David can’t believe Patrick made this rose. “You’re amazing.”

Patrick looks adorably shy, ducking his head to look away from the compliment. “Not really,” He deflects.

David scrambles up, puts g the book aside, and quickly takes Patrick’s hands to grasp his attention. “No, you are,” David says, breathlessly. “You are literally the most magical person I know. Even before this, you were like magic to me. I-.” He reaches up and caresses Patrick’s cheek with a gentleness he’s never extended before, drawing Patrick’s eyes back up to his. With a fond shake of his head, David lets out a soft laugh. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Patrick. I think it’s pretty safe to say that I never will.”

Patrick’s eyes shine at David’s words. David closes the space between them, drawing Patrick in for a kiss. He drops his gifted rose onto the bed before wrapping his arms around Patrick’s shoulders. His fingers slide over Patrick’s short hair, pressing their bodies close. David swallows up the little whimper released into his mouth, smirking slightly at his reward. He loves all of the little sounds Patrick offers up to him. They’re just as magical to David as the rose he was just given.

Patrick sits, not breaking their kiss as he leans back and pulls David on top of him. David takes advantage of straddling Patrick, rolling his hips to pull a soft whine from Patrick, only for Patrick to roll right back into David. He teases his fingers under David’s sweater, brushing over the bare skin of his lower back. It sends a shiver down David’s spine.

They both want more, they need more. They’d both gotten past their desire to take things slow, but circumstance forces them to stay where they are. They haven’t had a night to themselves since Stevie offered her apartment to them, and that was weeks ago. Patrick wants desperately to rip David’s clothes off and let him have his way with Patrick, but all he can picture is Ray, with his ear pressed against the door, listening for the worst time ever to walk in without knocking to ask a question that doesn’t even fucking matter.

“David,” Patrick murmurs, but he gets pulled back into another kiss that makes his heart sputter. He can lean into this a little longer. He feels David’s fingers tugging his shirt out from where it’s tucked in. He stops David before he can start undoing his belt, stilling his hands in his own. “David.” He pulls back, barely an inch, and meet’s David’s eyes. “As much as I want to, I’m positive Ray is listening, and you haven’t been quiet a day in your life.”

David wants to be offended, but he can’t. He fights a smile for a second, but falls into it, anyway, then leans down to kiss Patrick again. It soft, and sweeter than ever before. Patrick falls a little deeper, he couldn’t stop if he tried.

After one more kiss, David is rolling off him and sitting up before Patrick can even react. As he lifts himself up, he watches David pick up his rose very carefully. David stares at the flower for a moment before turning his eyes over to his boyfriend. “If I ask you something, will you promise not to think of me as a bad person?” He asks.

Patrick grins at him, leaning over. “No,” he lies, and leans in the rest of the way to kiss David softly. He pulls back, and David hesitates, his lips tucked in between his teeth. “You can ask me anything.”

David looks back and forth between Patrick’s eyes. “Does Rachel know?” His voice is quiet, and Patrick knows he feels shitty for the question even passing through his field of thought. The subject of Rachel is still raw, they’re still working through each other’s pasts. Patrick is learning that the subject of his ex-fiancée makes David jealous. But, Rachel, and everyone else, for that matter, had never even come close; surely, David has to know that.

Patrick shakes his head, not pulling his eyes from David’s. “I’ve never told anyone,” Patrick tells him, again, softly. “I thought it would scare her.”

Of the million expressions Patrick has observed on his boyfriend’s face, he’s never seen this particular combination. A hundred emotions flit across David’s features, and twice as many fly though his eyes. Patrick could watch these expressions all day. “Scare her?” David asks, obviously surprised at the concept.

“She’s a nice church girl,” Patrick explains. “She wouldn’t understand any of this. It would be too much. I haven’t totally ruled out that she would think I’m evil.”

David blinks a few times, then takes a deep breath, and Patrick steadies himself. “First of all,” He stars, holding up a finger. “No sane person would ever think of you as evil. Not even a nice, God-fearing girl like Rachel, who is obviously sane, as she was in love with you for many years, and probably continues to be in love with you.” Patrick winces a little. “And, anyway, it doesn’t matter if she could handle it or not. I know I can definitely handle this. This is probably the best thing to have ever happened to me, except for that time I shared an elevator with Pink and she gave me half a sandwich. Or, you know, getting handed a custom pair of ankle boots by Jeffrey Campbell himself. It’s definitely top five things to happen to me.” Patrick chuckles and kisses David quiet for a moment. “But, you know that telling her and her thinking you’re evil would have been a very easy way of breaking up with her and it being permanent, right?”

Patrick nods thoughtfully. “Thank you, David,” he says, dryly. “Next time I have to break up with Rachel, I’ll tell her the only secret I’m never supposed to tell anyone.” He leans into David’s space to steal a kiss.

“Okay,” David barks back in mock-offense, but leans into Patrick’s kiss with a smile. When they pull back, they linger near each other, their noses brushing as their foreheads press gently together. “I like knowing a secret about you no one else will ever know. I thought it’d be something weird, like a pencil eraser shavings collection. Or a duck fetish.”

Patrick smirks, and David can feel the breath of a quiet laugh on his face. “It’s a pelican fetish, actually,” He teases David, which earns him an eye roll.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day has felt exceptionally long. With only ten minutes left until the store closes, David taps his fingers against the counter, waiting for the clock to run out. He glances over at Patrick, who is lugging the last of their new inventory boxes to the back, then back to the clock. The minute hand is refusing to move, forcing the day to drag on and on.

David turns his body towards the back, waiting for Patrick to return so that he can recommend their closing just these few minutes early. However, the front door opens before Patrick comes back, and all of David’s hopes of going home early go out the door with their heat. David tries really hard to not be visibly upset with the customer, which only gets harder when he sees who has come in.

The woman is a townie whose name David has never heard before. At least, there’s no name associated with her in David’s mind. He tries to keep a good distance from her, because she’s been unpleasant to him every time they’ve interacted. The last time she was in the store, David made Patrick go help her because he didn’t like doing it. Patrick was kind enough to help her with a big smile, and she was just as unpleasant to Patrick, too. It might be a big jump, but, because she wasn’t able to be nice to the single best person David has ever known, he assumes she’s homophobic. Maybe she’s not, but she’s yet to prove him wrong.

David sighs, probably visibly, looking at the clock before finally turning his eyes to the woman. “How can I help you this evening?” He says, dropping the soft hint that they’ll be closing soon.

“Yeah, I want a refund,” she says, harshly. She reaches into her ugly purse, then nearly throws a product onto the counter, the plastic packaging clattering loudly.

“Uh, we don’t give refunds,” he says. “You can exchange it, or we can give you store credit.”

She scoffs. “I don’t want anything else from here,” she sneers. “I want my money back. This product doesn’t work.”

David finally picks up the artisan product she’d disrespected to examine it. She seems to be unhappy with the under-eye cream, which is odd, because David swears by it. He’s tried everything under the sun, and this product, by far, is his favorite. He glances up at her with a confused expression, then back down. He unscrews the lid and looks into the little pot. “It doesn’t look like you used it,” he says, lowly. 

“I did,” she insists. “I used it twice, and it doesn’t work. My wrinkles are still there.” She gestures up to her old face, and David stops himself from saying that not even a kiss on the cheek from Jesus at the Fountain of Youth could help her with that.

“Mkay,” David says, closing his eyes tightly. “This product doesn’t reduce the visibility of your age lines; it’s a hydrating cream. Reducing your risk of wrinkles is sort of a side-effect to having a hydrated under-eye area. And you’re supposed to use it everyday in order to see any kind of results.”

The customer huffs, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, I don’t like it,” she demands. “And I want a refund.”

“Okay, well,” David says, looking at her very sharply. “Like I said, we don’t do refunds.”

“Then, I want my money back.” She turns her nose up at him. He can see into her nostrils and kind of wants to puke.

“We don’t do refunds,” he repeats, sternly.

She pulls a nauseating smirk onto her face, and David feels like he’s aged ten years in that moment. “I’d like to speak to your manager,” she says to him, like he’s going to whither and die.

He does not whither and die. He straightens his shoulders and leans in. He stares right into her dull eyes, not giving her any room to back down. “I own the store,” he tells her, as forcefully as he can manage without actually yelling at her.

Her face drops, for a moment, probably expecting Patrick to be the one in charge. She straightens her back and purses her lips at him. “You’re very rude,” she tells him, like he’s not hyper aware of every aspect of his being.

“Thank you,” he says, shortly.

The woman huffs, not expecting that response. “I’m never shopping here again,” she informs him.

“Great,” he snaps back. “I’ll make sure to never sell you anything.” He means it, too. He’ll never forget this. Someday, he’s sure she’ll stop in for toilet paper or sugar, and he’s already looking forward to exercising his right to refuse service to anyone. “Have a nice life, don’t slip on your way out.”

She frowns deeply, pulling on the wrinkles she’s so concerned about, and marches out of the store. The same time the door slams behind her, the bell overhead jangling from the force, Patrick emerges from the back. His eyes are bright with amusement, and David sags with a heavy sigh.

“You couldn’t have helped?” David asks, rhetorically.

Patrick’s smirk grows as he walks over to the counter and stands opposite David. “It seemed like you had that handled,” he teases as he leans over the counter on his elbows.

David sighs, exhaling roughly through his nose. “Can you, like, banish her?” He asks.

“Banish her?” Patrick repeats, his voice equal parts amused and surprised at the question.

“Yeah,” David continues. “Or, I don’t know, make us invisible to her? Or give her even worse skin? Put frogs in her bed? Something, you know.” He drops his voice to a stage whisper, even though they’re alone in their own store. “Witchy.”

Patrick pretends to think, tapping his hand against the counter. “No,” he says. “I don’t think I can put frogs in her bed. But if she comes in again, I won’t sell her anything.”

David huffs and slaps his hands down on the counter. “What good is a magic boyfriend if he can’t even banish unwanted customers?” He snips.

Patrick smirks, leaning a little further into the counter. “I buy you dinner,” he reminds David, gently.

“Speaking of which,” David quickly turns right. “I wanted to go back to the motel to change before dinner.” David is asking permission without really asking. There’s a big part of Patrick that’s amused that David is asking permission to leave the store he owns.

Patrick knows better than to ask why his current outfit is unsuitable for the cafe. He once had seen David’s mother in five different outfits throughout a single day. There’s something about David’s family that will always be a mystery to him. Patrick just smiles and tilts his head towards the door. “I’ll see you at seven,” he reminds David, knowing that he’ll arrive at least fifteen minutes late, regardless.

David lights up, smiling brightly at Patrick, and that feels like a reward of its own. Then, David leans in and plants a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips. “Thank you,” he says, quickly. He turns and grabs his bag, just behind the curtain, conveniently. David nearly skips around the counter, and Patrick feels like, maybe, he should be a little concerned about how giddy David is to leave their store.

As David brushes past him, going for the door in a timely manner, Patrick catches his arm. He pulls David in and kisses him, soft and slow and sweet, knowing David wouldn’t expect it. He does it just so that he can see that surprised daze on David’s face.

David sighs and opens his eyes to look at Patrick. “That,” he exhales, “is why I keep you around.” Patrick chuckles at him, then let’s him go. David hovers in Patrick’s bubble for a moment before taking a slow step back. “Love you.” He mumbles it, still getting used to saying the words. It makes Patrick’s heart race all the same.

“Love you, too,” Patrick promises. He walks with David towards the door, opening it for him. “I can’t wait to see the outfit.”

While Patrick is mostly teasing, David still preens under the attention, walking out the door and down the way. As he closes and locks the door, flipping their sign to ‘closed’, Patrick laughs softly to himself.

After cleaning up the store and closing out the register, Patrick leaves the store and heads back to his apartment. The whole way home, he thinks about the customer, and about David asking him to use his magic. No one had ever asked Patrick to use his magic before. David’s particular suggestions weren’t great. Patrick probably could give her worse skin, or put frogs in her bed, but they seemed like dead giveaways of a witch in town, and he doesn’t need that kind of attention on him. He definitely couldn’t make them invisible to her or banish her, it simply isn’t possible. But he could do something. He wants to do something. She gets under David’s skin, and only Patrick (and maybe Alexis, too) is allowed to do that.

When he gets back to his apartment, he scans through a few of his hex and charm books. He doesn’t want to do any harm, or be terribly obvious. He stumbles across a complex charm to change a person’s perspective. At first, the charm seems needlessly complicated, but he quickly realizes that it’s for an entire life-perspective shift, for someone who desperately needs a complete life change. Patrick doesn’t need the charm to change this woman’s entire personality, he just wants her to not hate David. He can demystify this spell, untangle it and simplify it to the barest bones to get the minor results he’s looking for.

He digs through his trunk of supplies, pulling out what he’ll need. Herbs he wouldn’t have expected practically jump into his hands, begging to be used. Elixirs he’d forgotten he stored away spark ideas in his head. It’s been a while since he’s been so inspired to take a spell and make it his own. Patrick hadn’t realized how much he missed his own magic. Parts of him, ancient parts that were passed down through his blood, were waking up for the first time in years. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d actually made magic. He’d have to thank David later for being his unwitting muse.

When he’s finally ready, Patrick arranges his supplies, the book of charms, and his current, personal spell book on his bed, then opens the window. He lights a light purple candle on his cabinet in the corner of the room, and silently asks the universe for a little good luck.

He’s confident, every step he takes is sure-footed. He uses the charm in the book mostly as a guideline, ending up scribbling an entirely new charm into his own book. His own cleverness surprises him, but he’s proud of himself. Patrick hadn’t really understood the extent of his knowledge and gifts before this. He’s probably not the best witch in the world, like his mother always dotes on him, but he thinks he might be better than he previously thought.

Of course, because he thinks so, when he finishes his charm, his room is shrouded in thick smoke he hadn’t (but should’ve) expected, and he realizes he should have done this outside. After the literal smoke clears, and Patrick’s cleaned up his mess, the smell clings to his clothes. It’s not an unpleasant smell, but it’s not one he wants to wear while he’s out with David. He chuckles as he puts on a different outfit for dinner at the cafe.

He arrives at the cafe almost ten minutes late, but David is even later. His tardiness is one of the most reliable things about David, and it, like everything else about him, tickles Patrick endlessly. Patrick knows it’s not David’s fault, it’s just the way he was raised. He takes a table near the corner and orders drinks from Twyla as he waits for David to show.

It only takes a few more minutes before David is waltzing in and headed straight for Patrick. Patrick looks him over, taking in his outfit. He’s changed into another in the endless parade of patterned, black sweaters. It’s just slightly different than others Patrick has seen before. Either way, David looks great, and Patrick can’t keep the smile off his face as he approaches the table.

“So, weird thing,” David announces himself, in lieu of a greeting, sliding into the opposite side of the booth. “That lady? From earlier?” Patrick nods, assuming her identity easily. “I saw her just now; she walked past me, and then she stopped me to apologize to me.”

Patrick is surprised by that. He didn’t expect the charm to work so quickly. “Really?” He asks, leaning forward slightly.

David nods, taking a sip from the drink Patrick ordered for him. “Yeah,” he confirms. “She told me that she must have been hangry, or something, and that it wouldn’t happen again.”

Patrick leans back with a satisfied smile. “Huh. It worked,” he mused to himself, impressed with his own magicry. “That was quick.”

David’s eyes turn sharp as he tries to decipher that comment. “What worked?” He demands, leaning forward slightly. “What was quick?”

“The charm I put on her to change her mind about you,” Patrick explains, smirking slightly.

David puts his arms on the table to lean a little closer, his eyebrows knitted together. “You told me you couldn’t do anything,” he hisses, obviously a touch annoyed with Patrick, which is sort of the way Patrick likes it.

“I did not,” Patrick says, in mock offense, a hand coming up to clutch at his own heart. “I told you I wouldn’t put frogs in her bed.” He knows he’s doing a poor job of keeping his amusement off his face.

David huffs and rolls his eyes. “So, what?” He asks, almost sardonically. “You just know a spell that changes people’s minds?”

“No, God, no,” Patrick shakes his head. “I had to go through some books to try and find something close to what I was looking for. Weirdly, no one has written a spell to get a lady to stop being so mean to one’s boyfriend, so I had to improvise.” A very interesting mix of emotions flits over David’s face. Patrick catches whiffs of mild amused annoyance, then a glimmer of gratefulness, before David finally seems to settle on gentle pride. “I mean, what good is being magic if I can’t force people to like you?”

David rolls his eyes, but doesn’t fight to keep the grin off of his face. “Thank you,” he says, softly. He reaches across the table to take Patrick’s hand.

Patrick smiles fondly at David, squeezing his hand gently. “Of course,” he promises, just as softly. They both know that he would do anything for David.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doors to Patrick’s car slam shut in perfect time. Inside, David and he let out a heavy breath, releasing the last of their trip. While the visit hadn’t been as painful as David had anticipated, it also hadn’t gone as smoothly as Patrick hoped. Patrick starts the car and pulls out of his mom’s driveway. They aren’t going back to Schitt’s Creek tonight, the drive is too long, and neither of them are interested in driving through the night. They got a hotel room that they’ll leave from in the morning, not that Patrick’s mom knows that. She would have demanded that they spend another night in Patrick’s childhood bedroom, and the two nights they spent in that room were quite enough for them. Mary packed them probably too many leftovers, and David is already planning his attack on them when they get to the hotel. Patrick can see his grandmother peering at them out the window as he drives away.

“That was surprisingly fun,” David says, after about a minute on the road.

Patrick smiles over at David, reaching over to take his hand. “I think so, too,” he agrees, threading their fingers together. “I’m very proud of how you handled my grandma.”

David rolls his eyes. “She’s not my first crotchety old lady, and she won’t be my last,” he says. “No offense.”

Patrick snorts. “None taken,” he says.

“So, is it because I’m a man?” David asks, almost flippantly. “Or is it because I’m not a witch? Or because I’m not supposed to know the big family secret?”

“I think it was a little of everything,” Patrick says, his honesty always so astounding to David. “But it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, she definitely warmed up to you.”

David’s brows raise, and he turns a little more in his seat to look at Patrick. “Did she?” He comments. That’s a surprise. It certainly hadn’t seemed that way to David.

“Mhmm,” Patrick nods. “When she was saying ‘goodbye’ just now, she specifically said your name.” David had, in fact, noticed that she’d lumped him in with Patrick, mostly because he hadn’t expected it. He wasn’t totally sure that she knew his name until she said it. “She hasn’t said my brother’s name since I was a teenager and she claimed that he stole explosives from the neighbor. She won’t even acknowledge him when they’re in the same room, as you might have noticed this weekend.”

David shakes his head, quickly processing that information. “Well, did he?” He asks. Patrick glances over at his with his brows raised in a silent question. “Steal the explosives?”

“No,” Patrick supplies, rolling his eyes and shaking his head slightly at the memory. “One of her neighbors gave him a little box of sparklers for Canada Day.”

David snorts and settles back into his seat. “Well, I knew going in that she’d be a tough nut to crack, so I figured it was a lost cause,” he admits. “Which is why I spent so much time with your mom.”

Patrick beams at that comment, the exact same way he would beam anytime he glanced over and saw David joking around or talking quietly with his mom. David loves that look on his face. “She loved you,” Patrick compliments. “I told you that you had nothing to worry about.”

“The sentiment is definitely returned,” David says, happily. “She is so lovely. Which, you know, I expected her to be, because you’re the best person I know and she raised you. But, I kind of expected her to be at least a little-. Standoffish? Just based on what you said about her and Rachel’s relationship.” Patrick rolls his eyes and spares a glance over to David. “I know,” he says before Patrick can say anything. “I know, you’ve said it a million times, I’m nothing like Rachel. But, if perfect Rachel can’t prove herself, when how could I be able to?”

“Rachel is not perfect,” Patrick says, patiently. “And you never have to prove yourself.”

“Well, I know that now,” David defends himself. “I’ve never met anyone’s mom before, and I just wanted to make a good impression.”

“I know, I remembered how many sweaters you tried on before we left,” Patrick teases. “And, I’m almost positive you’ve met someone’s mom before.”

David huffs, his eyes rolling with severity. “Okay, fine,” he snarks. “I’ve never met the mother of any of my significant others before, so this was really important to me.”

Patrick knows this. The week leading up to their trip was fretful for David, to say the least. He’d been exposed to David’s nerves before, but it had never been quite like this. “You did great,” he praises David, easily. “But I do have a confession.”

David stiffens. He can’t imagine what Patrick could possibly confess to him right now. His mind jumps to the worst, to Patrick being a murderer or something equally awful, and David realizes that Patrick being a murderer isn’t a dealbreaker. “Okay,” He says, glancing away.

“I told my grandma who your mom is,” Patrick says, his voice shameful, but David knows better. He knows Patrick isn’t at all ashamed of that. David can see the glimmer of a mischievous smirk on Patrick’s face and knows he doesn’t feel bad about that in the slightest.

“Why?” David demands. He loves his mother, he truly does, but it’s not something he likes to lead with. Especially if he’s trying to make a good impression.

“I thought it would give you an extra leg up with her,” Patrick explains himself. David sees the beginning of Patrick’s shit-eating grin. “She never missed an episode of Sunrise Bay.” David groans, his eyes closing as he leans his head back. “Vivian Blake was her favorite character.”

“That’s because she was the best character,” David explains, his face still screwed up tightly. “When they cast her, their ratings skyrocketed; she was supposed to be three episodes, and she ended up first on the call sheet for five of her nine seasons.”

“She had the weirdest storylines. I have this distinct memory of watching Vivian falling down an elevator shaft and being saved by a huge colony of bats with her,” Patrick reminisces.

David nods quickly. “That was the first event in her eventual demonic possession, I remember distinctly,” he says. “You used to watch Sunrise Bay with your grandma, and that’s why she doesn’t completely hate me?”

“I would say that’s a major factor of it, yeah,” Patrick says with a nod. “I also know that she really liked the sweater you wore when we went out, and that probably helped, too.”

“Of course she did,” David says, plainly. “It’s Hermés. And you told me we were dressing up!” He’s gotten used to being severely overdressed for his company, but his sweater alone cost at least twice as much as Patrick’s entire family’s outfits that evening.

“I know you like an excuse to wear your clothes,” Patrick shrugs.

David rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway, always touched by Patrick’s thoughtfulness. “All in all, I think it was a very successful meeting,” he says.

“It’s always business with you,” Patrick teases, bringing their joined hands up to kiss the one finger without a ring on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rose Family Car pulls into the driveway, next to Patrick’s car. David takes the key out of the ignition, then stares at his newest adventure, smiling slightly to himself. The house desperately needs a new coat of paint and some gardening work, but it’s still the best house David’s ever laid eyes on. David can see Patrick arranging furniture through the front window. It makes his heart race, to look at his and Patrick’s house. It was their next big ‘first’ in their relationship: their first home.

A lot of time and effort went into finding the right home. Truthfully, the options were slim pickings. They knew almost everyone in town, so they knew all the houses, too. They all came with neighbors they didn’t want, or too much maintenance to make it livable, or didn’t have enough space, or were too far from the store. Twyla had convinced David that there was a ghost in two of them, which concerned Patrick a little bit.

Of course, it was horribly sad when Mrs. Brisky died, but it did put her three bedroom house on the market. They had their first walk through of the house before Mrs. Brisky’s kids had finished removing all of her belongings. Patrick negotiated a great deal with Ray, and, before the ink could dry, they were packing up and moving in.

David, as he packed the last of his worldly goods into the car with exactly no help from his family, Stevie included, had to promise to return the car first thing in the morning, because his mother needed it to drive a handful the Jazzagals to Elm Glen, or Garden Grove, or wherever, for a singing competition she’d made up. No one really seemed to care that he was leaving. He knew within the next twenty four hours, all four of them would be coming up with excuses to get him to come back, possibly together. The last of his things were in the car, and he’d said goodbye, and he was starting the newest chapter in his life.

After getting over the sparkly feeling of coming home for the first time, David lugs his chest of knits inside. He feels a sense of deja-vu when Patrick watches him struggle to bring it inside. “Hi,” David says, breathlessly, setting the chest down on the floor. He looks around at the furniture arrangement Patrick has been working on, and sees about ten boxes that weren’t there before he left. “Where did these come from?” He asks, gesturing at the stacks in the corner.

“Oh, my mom sent them,” Patrick says, gesturing over to them. “Kitchen gadgets. Family heirlooms. Magic supplies. Some cookies. All kinds of stuff.” David lights up at the mention of Patrick’s mom’s cookies.

Still, David was only gone a couple of hours, at most. His head tilts to the side. “How?” He asks.

Patrick shrugs. “Magic,” He says, walking around the couch to see it’s position in relation to the room. It’s not quite right yet.

“Oh,” David says, knowing he won’t get any more of an explanation that. Patrick could definitely tell him the intricacies of the spell she cast to teleport ten fucking large boxes over three hundred miles, but David won’t understand most of it, and they both know that. “Well, could you magic my wardrobe inside for me?”

“No, but I can use my arms,” Patrick deadpans.

David sighs, then shoves his knit-chest towards the staircase with his legs. “If I had magic powers, I would never use my fucking arms,” He complains.

Patrick grins, finishing sliding their new couch into the perfect position. As soon as he’s done, he’s crossing the mostly-bare room to get to his partner. He puts his hands on David’s shoulders, then slides them down his arms to take his hands, and leans in to kiss him, gently. It never fails to make David’s whole body tingle. “Welcome home, David,” Patrick mumbles against his lips. It sends a full on electric jolt down David’s spine, and all he can do is melt into Patrick. They’re only a couple hours in, and David already loves making a home with Patrick.

Patrick leads them back outside to unpack the last of what’s in the car. He makes David look weak, which makes him think that Patrick is, in fact, using magic. Then again, Patrick is an extremely motivated worker, and he’s enthusiastic about this particular project. He’s determined to, at the very least, get everything inside and in the right rooms. Also, Patrick’s arms have slowly been getting more and more muscular, something David noticed and appreciated. 

All of their big stuff was already moved in. They had their bed, a new couch with a matching loveseat, the big dresser, and a dining room table all moved into their respective rooms. Now, they just have to tackle organizing their boxes and actually unpacking everything. They know that they won’t finish unpacking today, even with all of their daylight hours left, but both David and Patrick are confident in their ability to, at the very least, put a dent in it.

Before they signed the contract on the house, they really debated the need for three bedrooms. No, of course, they didn’t need three bedrooms, but almost all of the two bedroom houses they’d stumbled across were not the most ideal, and the one bedrooms were pretty dismal. Honestly, this house was the only suitable option they looked at. They decided to make it work. They’ll eventually have a guest bedroom set up for anyone who needs it, but they have a plan to make the third room a closet for David and a magic room for Patrick. David, much to his own surprise, is more than happy to share his clothing space with Patrick’s magic. He’s endlessly fascinated by the mystery of his man’s magic; every nuance he learns only adds to the mystery, and he sort of hopes he never understands it all. He’s addicted to the way Patrick’s eyes light up when he explains something new about magic.

After the boxes are, for the most part, in the right places, David and Patrick find themselves putting together their extra room. They could be fixing up their living room, or decorating their bedroom, but David’s wardrobe and Patrick’s magic feel more important. Something inside both of them knows that it’ll make everything feel more like home. If they can sort all of that out tonight, they can do anything. So, David is in the middle of building his second clothing rack, which is easier than the first clothing rack, but not as easy as the third will be, and Patrick is unpacking the spell books his mother sent, putting them away on the bookshelf.

David looks up when he hears Patrick gasp. “Wow,” he breathes.

“What is it?” David asks, always curious about anything that can make his Patrick react. He leaves the rack, half made, and walks to the other side of the room to get a better look.

“It’s my first spell book,” Patrick says, feeling nostalgic as he flips through the pages. “My mom sent it. I forgot all about this book.” With a smile, David peeks over Patrick’s shoulder, putting an arm around him. He watches as Patrick’s fingers flip the pages. He stops on a page, maybe a quarter of the way through the book. He reads over the page for a moment, and realizes what’s on it. “Oh my god,” he jumps, then snaps the book shut and goes to put it away.

“No, wait, what was that?” David asks, reaching for Patrick’s wrist before he can lose the book on the shelf.

“Nothing,” Patrick insists. “Just this embarrassing thing I did when I was a kid, is all.”

“Well, seeing as I embarrass myself in front of you on a constant basis, I think it’s time we even the playing field,” David says with a grin. Whatever it is, it must be really good, because Patrick’s neck and the tips of his ears are flushed. “I promise I’ll only make fun of you for it privately.” It’s a pretty decent promise, David thinks.

Patrick hesitates, then brings the book closer. He opens the cover and flips to the page he’d snapped shut. He reads over the page, and David watches his lips quirk upwards, even as his ears get pinker. David is about to look down and read it over himself, but Patrick starts to read aloud.

“He’s black and white, but has more colors than I can see. He knows about everything, and about nothing. He owns all the stars in the sky. He can say a hundred things without speaking. He can tell the truth and lie at the same time. He wears fancy shoes, and dresses, and rings on all his fingers, except one. He has never heard of magic, but is magical. He doesn’t know anything about sports. He can’t ride a bike.”

David furrows his brows in confusion as he listens to Patrick. “Okay,” he drags out, softly. “That’s-. Not to put too fine a point on it, but that sounds like-. Someone. Very specific.” Something dings in David’s head. “Oh my god, did you make me up in a spell, like some kind of handsome Frankenstein? What the hell kind of spell could you possibly do as a kid in which the outcome is this?” He gestures his hand over his body, a slightly wild look in his eyes.

“I didn’t make you up, you’re older than I am,” Patrick deflects, getting pinker by the minute; David can only reign in his confusion because he thinks it’s the most adorable sight. “It was supposed to be for the only boy I could ever love.” He clears his throat, but can’t bring himself to look at David yet. “It’s, uh. It’s not actually a gender-specific spell, so it’s actually for the only person I could ever love. I didn’t realize that at the time.”

David doesn’t know what to say. “Why pick someone like that?” He asks, his voice timid and soft.

“There was never supposed to be a boy like you,” Patrick remembers, quietly. “I remember, at maybe seven or eight, knowing I could- that I would fall in love with a boy, and being afraid that my grandma would hate me for it. So I thought, if I made up a boy that couldn’t possibly exist, I could never fall in love with him.” Patrick breathes out a laugh. “I didn’t know anyone like you could exist.” He finally turns his eyes back to David, and his gaze punches through David, leaving him breathless. “I’m so glad you do.”

David lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “Yeah, that makes two of us,” he jokes, almost weakly, because he has no idea how to respond. The invisible tether between them tightens, pulling them a step closer so David can wrap an arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “You made a spell for me when you were a little kid?” The shy smile on David’s face is the sweetest sight to Patrick. He nods at David’s question. David takes a breath and shakes his head, smiling fondly. His hand comes up to brush over the hair on the back of Patrick’s head affectionately. “That is so precious. And sort of depressing.” Patrick lets out a surprised laugh. “Will you read it again for me?”

Patrick ducks his head, still embarrassed. David doesn’t get to see him like this often, so he takes it all in and commits it to memory. Still, Patrick indulges David, and reads the passage again. David grins the whole time he listens, knowing there’s not another person on earth Patrick could have described.

“Is that what you think of me?” David asks, his voice very soft.

Patrick looks up at David’s smile from his spell book. Without breaking his gaze, he closes the book again and puts it on the shelf. “Amongst other things,” he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he presses back against David. “I also think you’re extremely smart in a million ways I could never be, and you’re the most creative person I’ve ever met.” David blinks rapidly as he takes the compliments, always having a hard time with Patrick’s genuine praise. “Dashingly handsome.” David rolls his eyes, even though Patrick means it. “I’d also be lying if I said I weren’t a little envious of your hair.”

David huffs, but couldn’t stop the smile on his face if he tried. “If you’re trying to seduce me, it’s working,” he grins as leans the few remaining inches in to kiss Patrick tenderly. Patrick, in turn, is powerless against it, falling into David’s kiss with practiced ease. He wraps his arms around David’s middle, needing to be closer. In times like this, Patrick feels as though he doesn’t need food or water, just David in his arms.

“For the record,” David says, quietly, pulling the barest of inches back and holding up a finger. “Um. I don’t own all the stars? Just the one named after me. And the one named after my first cat that died.”

Patrick takes a second, absorbing the new fact he’s learned about David, looking back and forth between his eyes. “What was the cat’s name?” He asks, his voice soft.

There’s a little, tinkling voice in the back of David’s mind that tells him Patrick is looking for a millionth reason to tease him, but he answers anyway. “Mrs. Smoochie Havershim,” He says, knowing exactly how stupid it sounds.

Patrick smirks at David’s admission. “There’s a star named Mrs. Smoochie Havershim after your dead cat?” He teases.

David rolls his eyes. “Yes, there is,” he huffs, pointedly, but Patrick can see his grin starting to form. “And I’m still the only person you’ll ever love, so, really, what does that say about you?”

“Well, you don’t own all the stars,” Patrick keeps cracking, even if his tone is so soft and affectionate. “Just the two.”

“And, I don’t wear dresses,” David keeps arguing. He’s trying to look serious, but can never seem to keep the smile off his face when he’s around Patrick.

“Tell that to the contents of your suitcases.” Patrick gestures over David’s shoulder to his collection of trunks that holds most of his clothing, lined up like little soldiers along the wall. Patrick, while he hasn’t seen it all, has seen enough of David’s emmense selection of street and formal wear to know that there are definitely items that constitute as dresses. David bites down on his bottom lip to try and hide his grin, but fails horribly. Before he can argue again, Patrick leans in and captures David’s lips in another, tender kiss.

Admittedly, they get a little lost in the kiss, with David running his fingers through Patrick’s short hair, and Patrick dipping his fingers under David’s sweater in retaliation. David whimpers, and Patrick swallows it up, desperate for more. Their tongues have danced this choreography many times before, but it always feels new. It’s magic between them, even without the decades old spell that lured them to their rightful place: together.

When they’re too breathless to continue, they pull apart. Patrick lingers against David’s lips, smiling slightly before stealing one last kiss. David leans into Patrick, smiling to himself as he presses his forehead to Patrick’s.

“You’re the only person I could ever love, too,” David admits, just loud enough for Patrick to hear him. He peeks his eyes open to see Patrick beaming to himself at those words. “If I were a witch, I’d wish for you, too.”

Patrick stifles his own chuckle with a kiss to the corner of David’s mouth. “You’d wish for the most boring guy in a button down shirt?” He teases David gently, brushing his nose against David’s.

David jerks backwards, just enough to look completely at Patrick. He stares at Patrick in slight disbelief. “Oh, no,” he disagrees, very seriously. “I would wish for a boy who can sing any song. He has the warmest, chestnut eyes, and a smile that sends me to the moon and back.” Patrick rolls his eyes, but David’s not done. “He’s the best spellcaster in all of Canada, nay, the world!” Patrick snorts, but he loves David’s theatricality. “He’s so magical that he makes me feel like I’m magic.” David’s fingers soothe over Patrick’s short hairs at the nape of his neck. “He makes me feel seen, he makes me feel brave. He makes me feel normal where everyone else, ever, has made me feel like a freak.” Patrick’s eyes shine, but David continues before Patrick can interrupt. “He got me a great price on a house with a ghost of an old lady in it.”

“Mrs. Brisky’s ghost is not in our house,” Patrick interrupts him pointedly.

David wrinkles up his nose. “Are you completely sure, though?” He asks.

“About Mrs. Brisky’s ghost? Absolutely,” Patrick nods. “But, there are more people dead than alive, so I’m sure there’s at least one ghost everywhere you go.”

Patrick watches, up close and personal, as David’s mind goes through about a million thoughts at once. “Can you see ghosts?” He settles on after about three seconds.

“No, David.”

“Well, I don’t know all the powers you have!” David defends himself, even though Patrick is still beaming at him. Patrick’s smile always had a way of softening David completely, so he doesn’t feel quite as defensive as he might have once been. “I want to, though,” he adds, almost timidly, like he’s admitting a secret. “Know all of your powers. I’ve been dying to watch you cast a spell. You know, see it up close. And, I hope you know that I plan on reading all of these books like I’m Emma Watson in her first year at Hogwarts.” He pulls a hand off of Patrick’s shoulder to gesture to the bookcase beside them. “I want to learn all of it.”

 

Patrick nods, because he knows what David means. His mind flits to Rachel, and when they were going to start their life together. He would never have been able to have a room he could share with her that was partially dedicated to his magic. He would have spent his life with too many secrets. He feels a warmth of good luck seep down through his fingers and toes. He never has to hide from David. For the first time, he feels safe enough where he is to be exactly who he was always meant to be.

“We can learn together,” he says with a smile. He chuckles softly, glancing over to his books. “You know, you’ve inspired all my best work.”

David is unable to hide how pleased he is with that statement. “I’m happy to be your muse anytime,” he says. The tone of his voice warms Patrick to his core. Before he can kiss David again, he’s talking. “Just-. Please refrain from singing to me in public.”

Patrick smirks. “Absolutely not,” he says, then leans in and kisses his impossible man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
